


we are a way for the cosmos to know itself

by LydiaOfNarnia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 12:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11874405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/LydiaOfNarnia
Summary: Babe's not expecting anyone else to be awake this late at night, so he's taken by surprise to find Gene sitting outside.(Written for the Tumblr prompt:"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not.")





	we are a way for the cosmos to know itself

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

He’s not expecting to find anyone still awake this late at night, so when Babe slips out of the hotel they’re boarding in for the night to find a figure leaning against the balcony, cigarette raised to his lips, he almost startles. The presence of someone else is not what he was hoping for. He just needed a few moments of quiet, away from Perconte’s snoring and Luz’s sleeptalking. He just wanted to be able to hear himself think again, and beneath the starlight German sky seemed like the best place to do it. The unexpected presence, however, is a hiccup in his plans.

He is about to slip back inside, unnoticed and unseen, when the figure suddenly turns his head. Babe catches sight of a familiar face silhouetted under the moonlight, and feels a smile stretch across his face.

“Gene,” he says, and the steel-nerved medic actually jumps. He chuckles as he slips up alongside the other man, lowering himself down to sit on the ground beside him.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. You’re askin’ to get startled, sitting out here alone like this.”

Gene huffs, shaking his head, and takes another drag of his smoke. He offers it to Babe, who gratefully raises it to his own lips.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asks, passing the cigarette back to Gene. “You’ve gotta sleep sometime.”

They aren’t in Bastogne anymore. There are no more shells exploding overhead, no night skies lit up by lethal fireworks. They no longer have to fear closing their eyes and never waking up. Gene, who has been looking healthier and more alive by the day, ought to be resting. He should not be sitting out here alone.

(Even now that they’re out of the woods, Gene is so often alone. Babe cannot help but worry. His friend’s isolation only makes him more determined to get as close as he is allowed.)

“I couldn’t sleep,” Gene mutters, shrugging. “Not unusual. Though I could say the same thing to you. What’s brought you out of bed, Babe?”

Babe. Every time the nickname passes Gene’s lips (Babe can count a handful of times that it has) a rush of euphoria washes over him. He huffs, leaning back, and craning his head to look at the stars. They glimmer here in Germany the way they never did back in Philly, and it makes Babe feel like anything is possible.

“You kidding me? If anyone could get to sleep sharing a room with Luz and Perco, I’d give ‘em a damn medal.”

Gene laughs. It is a sweet, hearty, genuine sound that makes Babe’s chest feel light. He wishes he could record it, to keep Gene’s happiness in his pocket forever. A little piece of Gene that could be his, to share between the two of them. 

“Heffron,” Gene says, “sometimes I don’t understand you.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” Babe isn’t a complicated person; there’s not much to understand. Gene is the enigma, and Babe is ashamed to admit how often he finds himself searching to understand the man next to him. He can’t imagine anything about himself that Gene could find confusing.

He hears a deep sigh, and then Gene shifts. His weight comes to rest against Babe’s arm; a head settles against his shoulder. Babe goes still, hardly daring to breathe. He could not stand it if Gene drew back now.

“I think,” Gene says, “it’s a different place here. It’s quiet. Easier to think about who you are, who you’ve become. What you’re going to do after all’s said and done.”

Babe nods to himself, the smallest bob of his head. “It’s like a different world,” he murmurs. Then, after a few seconds: “Why would anyone want to start a war and ruin it?”

“Pride,” Gene answers, sounding far away. “People see the stars, and want to be able to touch 'em. Humans aren’t meant to reach that far.”

Maybe not, but with Gene’s head against his shoulder, Babe feels as high as the sky. The idea of reaching out, pulling down a star, and pressing it into Gene’s palms seems more than possible; it seems like the best thing to do. For a moment, the idea that he couldn’t touch the sky seems laughable. Babe wonders if this is how kings feel. Are these the thoughts that run through pilots’ heads, behind the controls of their planes? When he jumped from the sky, he never thought of taking a star for himself; his only thought was of how the ground would feel beneath his feet.

Now he is on solid ground, but he still feels like he’s flying. It’s the best feeling in the world.

“Gene,” he says, and wraps an arm around the other man’s shoulders. Gene leans into the touch.

A few more minutes pass in silence. Gene doesn’t speak; neither does Babe. They are both lost in their own thoughts, miles apart from each other, but perhaps closer than they think.

“Babe,” Gene says after a long while, “lets go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Babe agrees. “We should do that.”


End file.
